


Let's think about it later.

by Talraven



Series: Re-Rolling the DC Dice: The White Mask [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Conditioning, Daddy Kink, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, White Mask AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 03:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21246374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talraven/pseuds/Talraven
Summary: Jason gets caught in the middle of a gunfight and finds out something troubling about his secretive best friend.





	Let's think about it later.

_ Stupid stupid stupid. _

Such a _ stupid _ freaking mistake, letting himself get caught up in a _ gang _ fight - of all things - in the middle of broad daylight.

Bruce is _ so _going to kill him.

(That is, if he doesn’t die from a stray bullet before then.)

In Jason’s defense, he’d been minding his own business, walking the streets of Gotham, right out of school and still dressed in his uniform. Alfred had been supposed to pick him up, but Jason had gotten the sudden urge to see how things were going, back in his old neighbourhood.

(And since Dick had abandoned him at the gates, citing some half-assed lie about a family emergency-

Whatever. It’s not like Jason _ needs _ him to hang out with after school every day.)

He knows the area is safer now, largely thanks to Batman and Red Hood - and Gordon’s commitment to actually cleaning up the police force - but he only knows that about the nights there. He hasn’t seen those streets in the sun since Bruce had taken him in, and it had felt _ important _ today that Jason should go and see it now.

Now, he’s stuck between a dumpster and the dirty, moldy bricks of a narrow alleyway, trying to keep out of sight as men twice his age and size send bullets flying everywhere but at each other. 

Jason’s not sure if they’re all just really bad shots, or if this whole fight is a sham, but he’s definitely sure that Alfred’s going to be giving him an earful later for getting trash stains all over the sleeves of his blazer.

It feels like hours of crouching down on his protesting calves and thighs before all the noise finally starts dying down, and when it does, Jason slowly peeks out from the side of the dumpster and towards the mouth of the alley.

It’s not wide enough to give him a very good view, but it’s enough that he can see a couple of bodies on the sidewalk, and _ blood_. A _ lot _ of blood.

It’s horrible, even by Gotham’s standards, but Jason doesn’t have a chance to feel sick. The men still standing and running around past the alley’s mouth are wearing masks, and Jason frowns as he watches some of them carrying crates too. He recognizes their outfits; they’re Black Mask’s guys.

He thinks about calling Bruce then, but one man in particular catches his eye, causing him to pause.

The man is noticeably smaller than the others, short and lean, but he’s standing with his hands on his hips and watching the men running around like _ he _’s in charge. He’s also wearing a weird mask, not like anything Jason’s ever seen among Black Mask’s guys before. 

It’s - ironically - completely white, and the holes where the eyes are supposed to be are covered in a black film that look suspiciously like the lenses of Jason’s Red Hood domino mask.

Jason’s so intrigued by this new guy that he doesn’t realize he’s being stared at right back, and Jason scrambles back behind the dumpster once he does.

His heart thuds through his chest, and he hopes the mask won’t come checking on him, but he knows he’s shit out of luck because after a moment, he can hear footsteps thudding across the gravel down the alley.

There’s a fire escape for the building he’s huddled against, just a few feet away from him. Jason’s sure he can make the jump, if he runs fast enough, if he doesn’t hesitate at all. But what if the guy has a gun?

No matter how fast Jason can move, he’s not Superman. The bullet will definitely hit him at this range.

Jason’s still thinking furiously about possible escape plans when the footsteps go quiet, and he knows he’s out of time.

“What’re you doing here, kid?”

He almost jumps at the voice. It doesn’t sound human, and he’s not exaggerating either. It’s distorted, robotic; probably a voice modulator. It’s actually pretty cool, and Jason idly wonders if Bruce will let him install one in his own helmet as he looks up slowly to face the mask.

Up close, the white of it makes the details of the skull look even more garish, but the owner of it looks- _ young_? Jason’s not sure why, but that’s the feeling he gets from this False Facer. There’s something… _ different _ about him, besides the weird colouring.

He’s also expecting an answer from Jason, and Jason feigns innocent fear as he scrambles to think of what to say that won’t get him shot in the head.

“I was- I was walking to the library?” he tries. _ What would people who just saw a shoot-out sound like anyway, _ he thinks, adding, “Please don’t hurt me, sir.”

The masked man doesn’t say anything, his head tilted down to stare at Jason, even though Jason’s not sure if he can even see through those black lenses. His shoulders are tensed, and he’s clutching a gun by his side.

“Boss! Van’s loaded, we’re all set to go!”

The shout had come from the mouth of the alley, and Jason feels his heart race faster as he readies himself to break the civilian act and fight if the mask decides to try and shoot him. Bruce _ definitely _ won’t be happy about it later, but it’s not like Jason doesn’t _ want _ to run instead if he could.

“Give me a sec!” the mask barks over his shoulder, and Jason tenses up at the sound. “Keep the engine running.”

“Alright, boss!”

The mask looks back down at Jason, and in a much quieter tone, he says, “Don’t breathe a word of what you saw, or I’ll slit your throat in your sleep.”

Jason’s not sure at first what the mask means, but then the guy holsters his gun and, _ oh_, _ he’s letting me go. _

“I know where you live, Jason Todd,” the mask adds, and Jason’s gaping shock isn’t even an act. “Don’t make me regret this.”

And then he’s gone, striding quickly back out of the alley, leaving Jason alone but alive to process _ what the actual hell just happened_.

\---

Dick tears off the mask the second they reach the penthouse, even before the elevator’s doors have closed. He’d felt suffocated in it, more so than usual, and the only thing he wants right now is to burn the stupid thing with a flamethrower.

His heart still hasn’t stopped racing, and he can feel heat in his cheeks, feel the veins in his temples throbbing with- fear? Helplessness? Frustration? None of those feelings are new.

But seeing _ Jason _ look at him with those same feelings reflected in his eyes-

Dick wishes he weren’t such a coward so he can finally put a bullet in his own head.

“Hey, boss. You okay?”

It’s Donnie. Or Danny? Dick doesn’t really remember, but he’s one of the softer guys on Roman’s payroll. He’s always been unnecessarily nice to Dick, and while Dick appreciates it, he knows that his father does not. There’s no room for pleasantness in Roman’s gang, least of all any for his adoptive son.

“Fine,” he bites out shortly, not looking at the man. It’s not in him to be as cruel as Roman, but he doesn’t want to encourage Danny’s niceness either. 

He inhales deeply and tries to focus on calming down his heart rate instead. Roman’s had a thing for seeing Dick like this in the past; flustered and short of breath. Dick doesn’t like giving Roman things.

“You sure? You want some water or somethin’?”

_ I want you to shut up _ . “It’s _ fine. _”

“... Okay, boss.”

The ride up to Roman’s penthouse couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but to Dick, it feels like hours. He’s usually dreading this part of a job the most, the end of it when he has to face Roman after the terrible things he’s had to do.

Roman loves it though. He loves how much it torments Dick.

(Sometimes Dick wishes he could love the criminal life as much as Roman does. He wishes he didn't have to _ care, _ wishes he could just hurt people and not stay up all night because he’s scared of the monsters that will haunt his nightmares.

He wishes he could be _ just like Roman. _

Maybe then, Roman won’t like him so much.)

Roman’s standing in front of the wide windows in the sitting area when they step into the penthouse. He’s got a glass of whisky in one hand, and his mask firmly on his head. He’s in a good mood, so Dick hopes he’ll be able to walk normally for school tomorrow.

It’s bad enough he’ll have to lie to Jason’s face, but if Jason gets worried about why Dick’s limping again-

“I need to speak to my son alone, Danny,” Roman says, his back to them.

“Yes, boss.”

Dick stands stiffly behind Roman, hands clasped behind his back with his mask between his fingers, keeping his expression carefully blank and neutral as Danny goes back into the elevator. It’s not until it ‘dings’ close before Roman finally turns around to face Dick.

His mask had always terrified Dick when he’d been younger. The first time he’d seen Roman don it, Dick had been nine. Now he’s sixteen, but the sight of it still makes his stomach turn.

He tries not to think about it this time, because Roman’s smiling under it. 

Years of experience had taught Dick to discern Roman’s moods from just the crinkle of his eyes and the way he holds himself. Today, Dick can tell Roman’s not _ just _ in a good mood. He’s _ celebrating _ something.

“My boy,” he says, and he spreads his arms out in a clear invitation.

Dick dutifully approaches him, wrapping his arms around Roman’s waist in a hug that makes bile crawl up his throat. Roman pats his back with his free hand, but the action is far from platonic when it snakes further down and under Dick’s blazer, gloved fingers slipping under the waistband of his slacks.

“You did good today, angel,” Roman praises.

“Thank you, daddy.”

“I think you deserve a reward.”

Dick doesn’t dare hope that his so-called reward is to be spared Roman’s post-job ritual, and even when Roman’s hand withdraws from Dick’s slacks, Dick’s still apprehensive.

Roman pulls away and offers the whisky up to Dick’s lips, and Dick is so shocked that he actually looks up at Roman with wide eyes. 

Roman’s always been against Dick touching alcohol, touching any of his drugs. It’s part of Roman’s psychotic need to control him, his delusions of keeping Dick’s body _ pure _ for him.

(Never mind that there’s nothing left resembling purity in Dick, not after Roman’s been through him.)

“Go ahead, kiddo,” Roman assures, pushing the glass closer until the cold rim of it is resting between the line of Dick’s lips. “It’s a special occasion.”

Dick takes only a small sip, but the taste of it is foreign and overpowering, stinging his throat as he swallows it down, and Dick can’t help but gag and choke on it. He’s too busy trying to breathe through the pain to really be afraid of displeasing Roman with his reaction, but thankfully, Roman just finds it amusing.

He chuckles, patting Dick’s back soothingly as Dick breaks out in a bout of coughs, and Dick only vaguely registers being ushered towards the sofa. By the time he stops coughing, Dick’s already straddling Roman’s lap, the man’s large hands running up and down his sides under his blazer.

“Poor baby,” Roman cooes. “Too strong for you?”

Dick doesn’t know what kind of answer Roman’s expecting, and he panics internally, wondering if Roman wants him to lie or if admitting that the whisky had been shit would be more acceptable. 

In the end, he settles for apologizing. Sorry’s never gone wrong with Roman before.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Roman reaches up one hand and traces his gloved fingers over Dick’s lips, no doubt red and shining with spit and the alcohol. Dick lets his eyes flutter close at the touch, lets his body relax as he tries not to think about how much he wants to retch, tries not to think about Jason and how he’d looked at him today-

_ Please don’t hurt me, sir. _

Roman’s already prodding his thumb between Dick’s lips, and Dick takes it into his mouth obediently.

“That’s alright, angel. You know how you can make it up to me.”

\---

It’s not like Jason’s stupid.

(In fact, if you were to ask his teachers, he’s somewhere closer to a genius, if only he would actually _ apply himself_, pfft. 

He’d rather _ apply himself _ into being the best Red Hood possible, thank you very much.)

It’s just that, sometimes he’s so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t realize how some things are connected to each other in more ways than one, not until a little while later.

He doesn’t get the chance to tell Bruce about what had happened, at least not immediately. It’s almost dinner by the time he gets back to the manor, and Alfred’s done giving him the stink-eye for the state of his school uniform.

When Bruce gets back from Wayne Enterprises, he makes a beeline for the cave, and tells Jason to get ready for patrol if he’s done with his homework.

Jason had planned to tell him then, but Two-Face goes and decides to blow up a couple of banks on opposite ends of the city, and at that point, Jason’s too busy fending off Bruce’s constant reminders to _ be careful, Jason _ and stopping Two-Face’s men from getting away with truckloads of silver dollars to really remember.

When they’ve finally rounded up the last of the thugs and hand Two-Face over to Gordon, there’s another robbery in progress, down in Coventry, and it’s already two hours before they’re supposed to go back if either of them wants to get any sleep before morning.

All in all, it’s really not Jason’s fault that he never said anything to Bruce about the new mask.

And it’s _ really _ not Jason’s fault that he’s already in his pajamas, burrowing under the covers of his bed, hours and hours later since the gunfight incident, before his brain decides to remind him that Dick - his _ best friend _Dick - is Roman Sionis’s adoptive son. 

And Roman Sionis is _ Black Mask_.

And maybe, just _ maybe, _ the reason Dick had left school in such a rush yesterday afternoon had been because he’d had to don a white mask and do his father’s dirty business for him.

It _ makes sense. _ Why the mask had seemed young, why the other False Facers had called him _ boss, _ why he’d known Jason’s _ name _ \- his _ orphan _ name, not the name everyone knows him by - why he’d _ let him go without a fight_-

Jason hopes he’s wrong. He’s lying curled up on his side at five in the morning, completely buried under his sheets, practically _ praying _ that he’s wrong.

Dick is- Jason _ likes _ him. Dick’s always been nice; maybe a bit stand-offish, but he’s also smart, and funny, and straightforward with his honesty. All qualities you’d be hard-pressed to find among the rest of the children of Gotham’s social ‘elites’. 

Jason’s been friends with him since he’d first started at Gotham Academy, and he’s had a major crush on Dick since he was fourteen. 

Jason’s always known who Dick is, and he also knows that Dick _ hates _ what his father does, with the drug-trafficking and money-laundering and all the other criminal shit that Jason thinks Dick doesn’t even know about, but which Jason knows because _ Bruce _knows.

But _ does _ he really hate it? Jason’s never seen Dick _ working _ for Black Mask, not until yesterday. Had he been doing it all this time without anyone realizing? It hadn’t looked like it was his first day on the job.

Has Dick been lying to Jason from the start about what he thinks of Roman?

And if he has, has he just been pretending to be friends with Jason all this while?

What if it’s all been an act? It’s no secret that Roman Sionis _ hates _ Bruce Wayne, and Jason is Bruce Wayne’s adoptive son. Has Dick been working for his father all along, and is using Jason for him? To get back at Bruce, somehow?

_ God_, all the possibilities make Jason’s head hurt. Make his heart hurt too.

He really _ does _ like Dick, but- but what if Dick doesn’t actually like him back? If Dick’s just been using him-

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and clutches at his sheets, forcing the thoughts to silence.

He needs sleep. He needs proof that Dick is really the one behind the white mask, and why he’s working for his father now, but _ first_, he needs sleep. 

(And if he dreams about Dick pressing a gun to his head, cackling maniacally as he pulls the trigger, well. 

It’s not the first time Jason’s dreamt of dying.)


End file.
